


persistent memory

by Feather (lalaietha)



Series: (even if i could) make a deal with god [your blue-eyed boys related short-fic] [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Pierce died too quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/Feather
Summary: While they spoke Pierce listened, still standing and occasionally pacing the small observation room, thoughtful, looking through the window down at the asset. He'd taken his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair, having apparently removed his tie on the way here. As he moved he took off his cuff-links, put them in his pocket and neatly and carefully rolled back his sleeves, although it was - as always - on the edge of chilly in the facility.By the time the Yuri had finished the summary, Pierce returned to the table, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs and still seeming deep in thought.When he said, "Dr Mueller," Vicki startled. She couldn't even think why, hadn't thought she was tense. She controlled the response by the time he looked up at her. "You mentioned that you'd forwarded the idea of electric and nerve feedback as behavioural control. That never crossed my desk."





	persistent memory

**Author's Note:**

> **While no archive warnings apply, I personally would hang a 'here be dragons, caveat lector'**. Read at own risk. 
> 
> Draft written months ago to get the persistent replay out of my head; I wasn't entirely sure whether I'd ever post it here, but decided to edit and post. POV character is an American-born scientist and bio-engineer attached to the Winter Soldier project, and in "current" story-chronology is the one single surviving member of the Winter Soldier Project (and is currently in military prison, refusing to cooperate with anyone).

The suddenness is what sticks in Vicki's mind. 

She remembers the brutality, but what makes it so she can't forget, can't smooth out the memory and let it fade into the rest of the readjustments of her perspective - the changes in how she understands the world, what she sees as necessary, that allow her to accept the vast majority of what the project has to do - is how fucking sudden it was. How fucking abrupt. 

The brutality was shocking, but the biggest shock was how it came out of nowhere - and disappeared the same way. 

It had been a difficult four days anyway. The surgeons had already determined that François was unlikely to survive, unlikely to wake up again, that the damage to his brain was too great. Hermann was dead, and there'd been nothing anyone could do for him anyway. Christopher's arm would heal, but it would take weeks. And the overwhelming anxiety, the _fear_ that seemed to permeate her colleagues was like acid. Slow acid, dripping into her head. 

_Nobody did anything wrong_ , she'd objected, and Guy had looked sideways at her, shaken his head. 

_Yeah,_ he'd said. _Let's just hope he sees it that way._

Guy meant Ambassador Pierce. "He", all by itself, was almost always Alexander Pierce. 

In those days Vicki had been unsure about how to read that: in theory, Dr Zola still lead them, but nobody saw him much anymore. The rumours were _cancer_ , the rumours were he was dying. But nobody would confirm them, and the rumours never had any sources you could pin down. Vicki hadn't been sure what to believe, but knew one thing: _if_ Zola was dying, Pierce was already stepping in to fill the void. 

Stepping into it and forcing it wide open. Carving it to suit himself. 

At the time, Vicki also couldn't understand why some people were so frightened of that. She'd met Pierce. She'd _worked_ with Pierce. He'd been intelligent, reasonable, charming, easy to get along with, _respectful_ \- and that was a fucking miracle. She'd _liked_ working with him. He actually listened to her without her having to fight for it. It had felt like catching her breath after being trapped underwater. 

She'd also met Zola, worked briefly directly under him, and - 

Well. The personal qualities of a leader do not reflect on the virtues of the cause, and that's a good thing, because Arnim Zola made her skin crawl. But after those two days, Zola had approved her transfer to the Winter Soldier Project. On Pierce's recommendation. And she hadn't seen him since, thank god. 

There were high demands for the Project. She understood that. Of course there were. She also understood that it was Alexander Pierce's pet project, that it had been an overwhelming failure until he took control over it and revised the previous methods of conditioning, programming and reprogramming. So of course, he was highly invested in it and in its success. 

But nobody had _done_ anything wrong. 

Any time she pointed that out, people gave her the same look that Guy had, and quietly recommended she have every single bit of data that had anything to do with her, or this current situation, ready for in-depth review, and be ready to explain it. And then gone about doing the same. 

At least - said Guy and Yuri - they hadn't had to compromise the asset. The exercise had taken place underground, so they were simply able to close that part of the facility, vent heavy-duty knock-out gas into the air and then retrieve the asset and confine it prior to the gas wearing off. It had been a near thing - that had been when Christopher's arm had broken - but she was assured that was still better than the kind of incident where the only way to contain the asset was to shoot it and wait for blood-loss to bring it down. 

You couldn't put enough in a single-dose dart, apparently; after all, unlike an elephant or a rhino, the asset was perfectly able to manage self-maintenance, and if it was out of control it wasn't likely to just let the dart sit there and inject the full dose. 

But this was held up like it was the one bright spot in a tunnel of doom, and Vicki just didn't get it. 

 

The pretense was that Ambassador Pierce was engaged in talks about something or other with the Soviet government. In actuality, the man he was supposedly in talks with would simply spend the days keeping that pretense up, allowing Pierce to come here. There were any number of very, very compelling reasons for keeping the Project firmly in the USSR and not moving it to a NATO country, but one of the prices was in fact these little difficulties. 

Of course it meant that Pierce only ever came here for the most serious of reasons. Vicki knew that, that was obvious. But still - 

When Pierce arrived, he stepped out of the military Jeep and Vicki still didn't . . .entirely understand the way the apprehension became so thick you could cut it with a knife. He looked the same as when she'd worked with him before: handsome, confident, well-put-together. Still charming, even, despite the hard line of tension. And of course there was that. 

Something had gone wrong, and it would always _be_ dangerous, for him to visit here. Especially on such short notice, having to go through Europe. You couldn't expect anyone to be happy about that. 

But otherwise, she didn't get it. She would have understood this about Zola. But not about Pierce. 

He was brisk, and focused, but polite. They followed him into the observation room. 

At that point the asset was confined in one of the observation cells, mechanical arm deactivated, both arms restrained horizontally against the wall. There were two guards armed with rifles by the door, out of range of a lunge or leap, and another on the open viewing platform. 

Vicki had spent the last two days running data, as much as she could convince anyone to get close enough to get. Most of that had been in the brief period they'd had to sedate, intubate and IV-rehydrate the asset - a tense two hours, though Vicki'd been more afraid one of the guards would shoot someone by accident from being too twitchy. Possibly her. 

Her own calculations for the sedative levels had been impeccable. They always were. 

_Alright,_ Pierce said. _Fill me in._ And they did. 

Sergei shot Vicki a hate-filled look when she pointed out that _she'd_ made a note of the first erratic behavioural indicator and recommended investigation, but she didn't care. If he was going to ignore her, she wasn't going to hold the can for him. 

While they spoke Pierce listened, still standing and occasionally pacing the small observation room, thoughtful, looking through the window down at the asset. He'd taken his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair, having apparently removed his tie on the way here. As he moved he took off his cuff-links, put them in his pocket and neatly and carefully rolled back his sleeves, although it was - as always - on the edge of chilly in the facility. 

By the time the Yuri had finished the summary, Pierce returned to the table, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs and still seeming deep in thought. 

When he said, "Dr Mueller," Vicki startled. She couldn't even think why, hadn't thought she was tense. She controlled the response by the time he looked up at her. "You mentioned that you'd forwarded the idea of electric and nerve feedback as behavioural control. That never crossed my desk." 

"Dr Lyskov felt the avenue wasn't worth pursuing." And she felt Sergei's glare burning into her neck again. She ignored it. Fuck him, anyway. She'd been more than happy to come in and collaborate, had wanted to collaborate, and he'd spent the whole time blocking her when he wasn't taking credit for her work. He could just hang. 

"Really," Pierce said, and she thought his tone was dry. "Can Dr Lyskov explain why in less than thirty seconds?" 

Sergei said nothing. When Vicki glanced at him, surprised, he was looking straight ahead and his face was slightly flushed. Others were looking down or away. She wasn't sure why. 

"Alright then," Pierce said, and for a moment Vicki felt like his accent had turned particularly American, more so than she was used to hearing anymore. "I'll listen to that explanation later. For now, Dr Mueller, I'd appreciate it if you'd explain why you thought they were worth pursuing. As succinctly as possible." 

Vicki felt uneasy, though she couldn't think why. It just suddenly felt like the ground under her might be uncertain, even though she had no reason to think it. She cleared her throat. 

"The same reason that electric feedback is worth pursuing in training dogs, Mr Pierce," she said. "I was reviewing some of the early notes and files from Dr Zola and Dr Andreyevich, and noted that Dr Andreyevich theorized that some of the immediate behavioural disruptions in the subject could be related to reduced cognitive capacity, induced as unavoidable collateral from the memory adjustment process. He considered that these disruptions presented in a disorganized fashion, rather than later, clearly organized forms of systematic disobedience, which in turn arose after a period of time consistent with neurological repair. If Dr Andreyevich is correct, then immediately following full memory reprogramming, the asset may be functioning at a reduced cognitive capacity, which among other things makes more formalized methods of discipline less effective, as they separate cause and effect."

Now Pierce was standing up again, arms folded and one hand tapping his chin thoughtfully; he nodded at her, and gestured for her to continue. So Vicki shrugged. 

"If that's the case," she elaborated, "then behavioural correction could more effectively be induced by more immediate aversive feedback, as is used in training animals such as dogs. Controlled electrical shock is one such method and I suspect would be extremely effective for mild behavioural disruptions; however, as Dr Lyskov correctly pointed out when we first discussed this, more severe disruptions would potentially require charge beyond the threshold of causing damage to tissues. Which is definitely sub-optimal when it comes to control methods, and offers little to recommend it beyond our existing options. 

"However," she continued, taking a deep breath, "I am reasonably certain that the interface between the asset's mechanical arm and his nervous system can be manipulated to cause nearly unlimited unpleasant stimulus without causing any damage." 

Pierce looked at her, now once again leaning on the chair back. "'Reasonably certain'?" he quoted, eyebrow slightly quirked. 

"Completely certain," Vicki admitted. "Barring only that I was not given clearance to perform any trials of the technique, without which I cannot in good conscience declare absolute certainty, thus my reservation. However, extensive modelling and investigation has yet to present me with any indicator that it would not work as described." 

"Dr Lyskov didn't give you any?" Pierce asked, and Vicki thought the question might be arch. 

"No," she said, simply, because he hadn't. Pierce looked at Sergei, who was now staring at the floor. He also looked sick and pale. But it wasn't Vicki's fault that as far as she could see, he objected to her idea because she'd come up with it instead of him. She was just grateful that for once, a superior hadn't just left it there. Had asked the follow-up questions. 

Pierce stood straight and hooked his left hand thumb in his belt-loop, absently, while looking directly at her. There was absolutely nothing hostile about the look, nothing more than appraisal but Vicki still found it hard to take. She had to fight to maintain eye-contact. 

"I'm going to go ahead and say your confidence on this one tells me that you've already worked out exactly how to make it work," he said. 

"An external transmitter placed on the apparatus would allow for the remote triggering of the system," she confirmed. 

"You built one," he said. It wasn't a question. 

"A prototype," she confirmed again. "I would want to make the design significantly more robust before I would consider putting it into consistent use, but I was instructed to abandon that line of inquiry." 

"You should go find me that prototype, Dr Mueller," Pierce said, "and meet me with it downstairs. Dr Lyskov, Dr Bernard, I would like to have a quick word. I'm sure the rest of you gentlemen have things to do." 

 

Outside the door, Yuri caught her arm as she veered towards her office. "Hey," he said, quietly, when she looked at him in irritation. "Be careful." 

It was the fact that he looked frightened, concerned, not annoyed, that made her stop. Made her do anything but shake him off with an irritated snap. And he did look frightened. 

Yuri, despite being older than anyone else here, and despite probably having more reason for male chauvinism than most, having got his own degrees before universal women's suffrage in the US, even, had always been one of the best of the lot. He could be avuncular, but he was that way with the men, too. 

Before she could ask him anything, though, he said, "I understand your ambition, Vita. I do. I even admire and respect it. Please understand that I am not saying this to you as a competitor, as a man who is afraid a woman might be better than him, do you see? I am saying this to my friend. I am saying this to my young friend, who thank god has not yet had to survive the things I have managed to survive. Yes?" 

Vicki stared at him, and nodded. She had no idea what he was on about, but she could at least believe he meant what he said. 

"Be _careful_ ," he said, again. "The less men like Ambassador Pierce know you, know your name, they less they see you, the better. The safer you will be. The more things _you_ will survive. Please know that." 

Before she could even fully grasp the sentences, let alone find replies, he looked around, "But now go, get your prototype." 

Vicki did, mostly because she didn't know how to respond. 

 

When she got to the door of the observation cell, Pierce was there, talking in a low voice with Guy and Andrei, the guard frowning deeply as he listened. Pierce waved her over and Vicki hurried, not sure why she was nervous now. 

She held out the prototype. Pierce listened to her explanation - mostly a repeat of what she'd said in the observation room above - and took the trigger, but not the transmitter. 

He said, _Come with me_. 

Then opened the door and stepped into the cell. 

She remembers her heart stopped. Then she remembers being angry with herself, given how impatient she'd been at the others before, and how irritated, and how it hadn't frightened her before now to enter and administer the sedatives. She couldn't think of why it scared her now, and it made her feel . . . shamed, somehow, even as that didn't take away the fear. But the shame was stronger than the fear. 

So she followed Pierce into the cell. But the gnawing pit of anxiety in her stomach didn't get any less, or go away. 

It got worse when Pierce asked her, politely, to place the transmitter. But she refused to let it show, or anything show other than brisk, businesslike motion. Because there was no rational reason to be afraid. She was completely safe. And yet - 

And yet. 

But damned if she'd show it. 

The asset inevitably stank of sour sweat, old and new. He was non-responsive, even when she stepped close enough to place the transmitter on the metal shoulder. 

It. Not he. It. She still caught herself shifting to _he_ \- it always seemed to be harder to do otherwise, when you were in the room, or interacting closely. Granted, until Christopher came back, she was the only one who even cared to focus on the difference. Maybe it only mattered if you spoke English. Maybe it didn't really matter then. But it did, somehow. It was better for clarity. 

When she finished and stepped back, she noticed that Pierce had gestured for the guards to relax, to lower their weapons. 

She didn't expect Pierce's instruction to hit the release codes on the restraint, and to this day she still doesn't know what it is that made it so that she obeyed instead of freezing, or running. She would have expected herself to freeze, or flee, before. Because there might be no reason to fear when the asset was restrained, but those restraints were the reason not to be afraid. Without them -

But something made it so that she obeyed instead, and she doesn't know what it was. She does know that it probably saved her life. But she doesn't know what made it happen. 

She couldn't help the way she scurried back towards the door after she'd done it, though. And it was _scurry_ \- she felt, suddenly, exactly like a small frightened prey animal, and for once she could have fucking kissed Andrei for the way he caught her arm and pulled her slightly behind him, instead of resenting the idiot machismo. 

Vicki expected violence. Hell, she expected to die, before she got to Andrei. In that moment she expected to see _Pierce_ die, victim to his own overconfidence, and she couldn't imagine what he was fucking thinking of. 

Neither of those things happened. 

Instead the asset merely stood, gaze forward and slightly down. Gaze going through anything in front, clearly unfocused. Pierce stood a little to the side, arms folded again, face . . . considering. 

She can hear him in her memory. She'll probably always be able to hear him. Other memories become narrative, become stories she can tell herself and someone else, things she knows rather than things she sees, but this she can always see, and always hear, and she wishes she couldn't. 

In her memory Pierce says, _Report._

In her memory the asset doesn't answer. His gaze drops a little more. Right hand closes. Jaw tightens. 

And then this is the second her memory fixes on. The thing that came out of nowhere. The thing that was sudden. 

She expected violence. But not this violence. 

In her memory Pierce hits the man standing in front of him hard across the face with the back of his hand. The sound is like a physical force, loud beyond any proportion, any reality of the noise that a hand hitting flesh could possibly be. 

Then Pierce has a hand around the asset's throat, is shoving him back against the wall and there's no way anything possibly, anyone possibly could breathe through that grip, that kind of grip, that kind of strangling hold - and then it shifts and Pierce slams him back against the wall, slams his head against the wall, twice. 

The asset does . . .nothing. 

Vicki can't breathe. But the asset does nothing. 

Pierce lets go, and the asset stumbles. Hand goes to his throat, coughing, but only for a second. In her memory, Pierce hits him again, across the face or in the face, or - but harder - this time not with his hand, this time with something in his hand, and she'll realize later it's the butt of a pistol. Hits him _hard_.

The blow knocks the asset to the floor, to hands and knees. 

That's the fix. The point. It all pivots on that, because she didn't see it coming and it left her breathless and staring and she can watch it over and over and over in her head, forever. 

It left her breathless. Staring. 

And terrified. 

It took . . . seconds, maybe a little over a minute. Pierce's stranglehold the longest part, and that only long enough to get . . . a reaction, for the choking loss of air to matter, most of that even more likely from the pressure of the grip closing - 

And then it was over. Gone. Everything was over. 

Then Pierce was calmly handing the pistol back to the guard closest to him. Turning his back on the figure on its hands and knees, like it didn't matter. The asset stayed where he was. Didn't move. Didn't say anything. Took laboured breaths and did nothing to stop the trickle of blood from his mouth. 

Pierce turned back, took a few steps closer, and looked at him. Both hands in his pocket to start with. Then one hand in his pocket, and the other holding the remote trigger he'd taken from Vicki. 

He looked at it like it was interesting, like he wanted to get a good look at every side of it. 

Then he held his hand out, barely, and pushed the dial to turn it as far as it went. 

The figure on the floor screamed. Collapsed. Curled in on itself like a convulsion into a foetal ball. Vicki felt herself flinch like she was far away, felt herself almost hide behind Andrei. Who also flinched back. 

It was stupid. She was angry at herself even as it happened. She'd designed the thing: she knew how it worked, and this was _meant_ to be the full effect, the highest setting. Exactly this. It worked perfectly: incapacitating, immediate, effective. 

The screaming stopped but the scraping sound of a voice after it's broken went on. Forever. The body on the floor twisted itself into a knot and shook and she could see - 

Ten seconds after he'd turned the little dial to start with, Pierce spun it back the other way. 

The part of Vicki not frozen in terror she didn't understand expected the asset to go limp with relief; it didn't. It stayed curled in the foetal ball, shuddering. 

There was silence, except for broken, scraping breathing from the huddled body on the floor. 

Pierce put his hand back in his pocket and stood there for a moment. Two. Watching. Considering. 

Then he turned away and said, "Dr Mueller?" and it took all Vicki's self-control not to shriek. 

To say, "Sir?" instead. To step out from behind Andrei and act like she hadn't just been cowering. 

Pierce crossed the cell to her, and she managed to take the controller back from him without flinching, either. 

"Excellent work," he said, conversationally. "I'd like you to develop your more robust version. I'd also like a detailed brief on the rest of your suggestions, ASAP. If you have any further thoughts or observations arising from your work, I'd like them to come directly to me, as well." 

"Of course, sir," she said. It had felt mechanical. 

"Thank you," he said, polite, and with a slight smile. As he handed her the controller, he squeezed her hand with the other, like a friendly gesture. 

Andrei didn't pull her back behind him, when Pierce turned away, but he did put a hand on her arm like he was offering her some kind of steadying, or support, and she didn't even resent it. She might've liked it if he had tried to hide her again. She thought that, and felt like an idiot, and still thought it just the same. 

Pierce crossed back to within a few feet of the huddled body on the floor. 

Said, "Sit up," and Vicki felt the tone of voice go down her own spine. _Report_ had been calm, collected, and everything else he'd said the whole time he was here, at least that she'd heard, had been friendly and calm and no more than concerned or serious. These two words, _sit up_ \- 

They weren't shouted. He didn't bark or yell or even snap. They were perfectly controlled. But they were angry. Livid. _Disgusted_. You could _hear_ it under the level flatness of the tone. 

Vicki watched the asset uncurl. Although the contrast with the device in action would be significant, neuropathic pain lingered, and at the very least the area around the useless prosthetic itself, around the connections, could potentially still be quite painful. None of that showed. 

The asset's face was blank, movement slower than usual but direct and deliberate. He pushed himself to his knees with his right arm and then stayed, still, the same empty gaze as before. 

"Your conduct is unacceptable," Pierce says, in the same flat voice. "The delay and risk to your work is also unacceptable. It appears your commitment is once again inadequate. That, too, is unacceptable. This disruption _will_ be corrected. Do you understand?" 

Vicki saw the slow, slight incline, nod, that was the asset's response - and then flinched when Pierce backhanded him again. This time the movement was almost negligent, like smacking a recalcitrant machine. 

"When you are queried you will respond," Pierce said. 

The blow had made the asset sway, but he came back to where he was, to the same empty look. He said, "Yes," and his voice was ragged. 

"Consequences will be appropriate to your misconduct," Pierce said, "and adequate correction. You will comply with the correction. You will also comply with all subsequent programs, at direction. Further disruption is also unacceptable. Respond." 

The asset said, "Yes," the same way as before. 

Then Pierce turned away, and Vicki could see the disgust on his face, and in the gesture he made. "Get him out of my sight," he said, mostly to Andrei. "Full diagnostic exam, to start with." 

Then he left. 

Vicki stood where she was until Andrei touched her arm again. When she looked at him, the frown he had seemed . . . less offensive, less aggravating than it always had before. More worried. 

"You should go," he said, in accented English. "Go . . . to your office, or to the cafeteria. Have some coffee. Settle yourself." 

She stared at him for another few seconds and then nodded. Too fast. "That's a good idea," she said, and walked out the door of the observation cell. 

She had to stop herself from running, after a few steps. She realized if she went to her office, she would lock the door behind her, and might never come out again. So she made herself go to the cafeteria instead. 

 

Vicki remembers that she didn't see Pierce again before he left to return to Moscow. He didn't ask for her, and this time she didn't go out on her own initiative. It . . .didn't seem like the wisest thing to do.


End file.
